


A Room

by StAnni



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Light Smut, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 22:17:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18583699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StAnni/pseuds/StAnni
Summary: Eliot puts on a smile, or as far as he can, and takes another drag. “Just thinking”  he says and Quentin’s frown stays where it is “Well, don’t.  It’s…think on your own time.”It is said in admonishment and Eliot has to actually smile, because slightly-irritated-Quentin is one of his favorites.





	A Room

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Комната](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20448551) by [fandom_The_Magicians_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_The_Magicians_2019/pseuds/fandom_The_Magicians_2019), [IryStorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IryStorm/pseuds/IryStorm)



Quentin is next to him, naked under the sheet – legs crossed, elbows on his knees – rolling a cigarette with focused attention. “Why are you up?” He asks without looking at Eliot – straining to keep the fold straight between his fingers.  
“Can’t sleep.” Eliot says, reaching up to help and Quentin smiles, moving his hands away.  
“Let me.” Eliot shrugs and watching him, moves up, so that they sit side by side. “Can I have one of those?” to which Quentin indicates with a quick nod to the rolled cigarette next between them. “Made yours already.”

Eliot watches Quentin lick the paper as he lights the rolled cigarette. It is pretty good and for a moment he has to look away and drawing himself out of the last fog of sleep remembers where he is as his heart falls.

Quentin, because it is his Quentin, looks over at him at that very moment with a concerned frown, soft eyes. “Hey. What’s with the mood?”

Eliot puts on a smile, or as far as he can, and takes another drag. “Just thinking” he says and Quentin’s frown stays where it is “Well, don’t. It’s…think on your own time.”  
It is said in admonishment and Eliot has to actually smile, because slightly-irritated-Quentin is one of his favorites. 

“No heavy stuff, I remember the rule.” Eliot says rubbing Quentin’s knee in placation to which Quentin smiles, finally finished with his own cigarette and giving Eliot a victorious smile.

“I like your smile” Eliot says, leaning his head back against the wall – the cigarette warm between his fingers. “I’ve always wanted to try this.” Quentin says as he lights his own cigarette and exhales with a flourish. “I like your voice too, and your lips” Eliot says, touching Quentin’s jaw, running his finger up to Quentin’s lips and keeps it there as he leans in to smell Quentin’s hair – sunshine.

Quentin gives him a knowing smile and shakes his head with a chuckle. “ I can’t believe you’re going to make me kill this after all of that.” But his dick his hard under the sheet and as Eliot pulls him close for a kiss the cigarette is crushed on the bedside table.

Quentin is pliant and insatiable and his mouth is warm, dusky with tobacco as Eliot licks against his tongue – pushing him down, pinning his arms to the mattress and holding his own body just so, just avoiding friction. “You are such an asshole.” Quentin groans as he tries to lift his hips up and Eliot smiles into his neck, fresh linen, sun. “A monster.” 

Afterwards Quentin’s skin tastes like salty caramel and he stares at the white ceiling, his head on Quentin’s stomach, and Quentin’s dick, heavy but soft, under the back of his hand. Darkness creep in around the edges again and Quentin raises his knee, a warning bump “Hey, El, don’t get morose on me, okay.”  
But it’s getting light and with the rising sun Eliot’s heart sinks “I’ll try not to, Q” is all he can muster.

Quentin smiles down at him, all dimples, eyes glinting “ Hey, do you remember the night we got drunk and tried to make a comet?”  
The tears sting in the corners of Eliot’s eyes as he laughs – laughs until his sides are in pain, as Quentin chuckles, happily, watching him. “That was some comet.” 

And then he can’t help it. Because some things are just fucking heavy, and morose and stands teetering on the end of the world. 

“I fucking miss you, Q. I miss you.” 

The silence floods the room with light and he can feel Quentin’s fingers in his hair – touching him, almost absently.

“You’ve got to chin-up, baby.” His voice is soft but there is a shade of worry that folds painfully around Eliot’s heart. “I worry about you.” 

After the light sleep, or at least something similar, seeps through his bones, quietly, evenly, until he can no longer feel the softness of skin behind his hand, until the darkness has eaten away to the heart of him, and he is back, alone, in his room.


End file.
